


Penitence

by betts



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dry Humping, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Redemption, Slow Burn, Weddings, Wooing, Yearning, hope u bitches like romance, lightsaber battles as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/pseuds/betts
Summary: Rey found Ben at the bottom of the ravine, and stood over him through the bond, unable to touch him. He was filthy, bleeding. His leg was bent at a painful angle. But he was not dead. At least, not yet.“Are you alright?” she asked.Strained, he said, “Been better.”Or: In the aftermath of the war, Rey hides Ben on Luke's island to recover while she aids galactic reconstruction. Despite their distance, their bond grows stronger, and she knows, eventually, he’ll have to atone.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 86
Kudos: 771





	Penitence

**Author's Note:**

> I fixed it. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.

* * *

Palpatine was dead, or as close to dead as he could be. Rey knew death didn’t mean much to a Sith, but he was, for the moment, no longer a threat. She could still hear his laughter ringing through the Force. A promise, maybe. She pressed a hand to her heart and looked inward, wondering if she had become all the Jedi and all the Sith at once, but no. She was alone. Just Rey.

Ben, she thought, frantically seeking his presence. She found him at the bottom of the ravine, and stood over him through the bond, unable to touch him. He was filthy, bleeding. His leg was bent at a painful angle. But he was not dead. At least, not yet.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Strained, he said, “Been better.”

“I’ll come get you.” She broke the connection and dashed off toward the ship.

_ Take your time, _ he thought at her. _ I’ll just, you know, be here. _

She landed beside him. The X-Wing had only one seat — she helped Ben into it, and before he could protest, settled onto his lap, careful of his broken leg. The space would have been cramped with two normal-sized people. With Ben, there was barely room to breathe. His hands settled lightly on her hips.

The battle had ended, and below them, dreadnoughts fell to ruin on the moon’s surface, explosions popping all around. She was gutted by the stench of death looming in the Force. There was no victory without tragedy. She could not help but think of the innocent children who had been conscripted into a war that shouldn’t have been theirs to fight. How different their lives could have been if they’d known peace. 

A civilian fleet had arrived to rescue the Resistance, and now they turned away, flying upward before blinking into hyperspace. The X-Wing broke the atmosphere, and she was just engaging the hyperdrive when Ben said, “I can’t go to D’Qar.”

“You need a medic.”

“They’ll take me prisoner.”

She could feel his life force draining out of him. “You’ll die without help.”

She knew he was right, though. If she brought him to D’Qar, they’d heal him, yes, but at a cost. He’d be tried under the New Republic’s old laws, and then executed. Not for the first time, she wondered exactly how much better the Resistance was as a governing entity. Democratic, yes. But that didn’t mean it was just. 

“Don’t go down that path,” Ben said. “Even under the Galactic Republic, there was slavery.”

She was not used to his being such a passive presence inside her. Kylo Ren came and went, demanding and intense for short bursts of time. He had been so aggressive in the Force — she felt him, and every muscle in her body tensed; she was always prepared to fight, prepared to kill. He liked to saturate himself in her fear and anger. But Ben was languidly swimming in her, tremendous but gentle. Curious. Searching. He lay completely open to her, boundless, as if he didn’t care at all what she found in him. He was Kylo Ren but not quite, the same tune played at a different octave. She could see him now, all of him, and he was wholly, blindingly light. 

“I won’t let them take you,” she said, and rerouted them to Ahch-To.

* * *

She lowered him onto the cot in Luke’s den. It was night and the planet was frigid. Ben was slipping in and out of awareness. As they landed, he had been just alert enough to see the charred remains of his TIE Silencer. Alarmed, he had asked, “What did you do to my ship?”

“I was upset.”

“I loved that ship,” he said, and fell unconscious again.

Now, she knelt at his side and laid her hands carefully on him, gathering the Force like a rallying cry.

His hand found hers and he pulled her away. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll waste it.”

“It’s not a waste if it saves you.”

“Let me die in peace, Rey.”

“You don’t have a choice.” She pressed her hands to him again. This wound was not as bad as a saber through the gut, but he was bleeding internally, and it had left significant damage. So many parts of his body called out to her, it was difficult to find the worst of it, but she did, a laceration. She mended it, along with all the others that were draining him.

Next, she moved to the non-lethal wounds, starting at his leg. He stopped her again, this time using the Force, holding her wrists together.

“You’ve done enough,” he said. 

“How will you get around? Hunt? Eat?”

“I’ll make do.”

She sat back on her heels. “You won’t have a ship.”

“Whose fault is that?”

He let go of her. She stared at him the way she used to stare at Ren, all stubborn contempt and daring. This time she did not meet his shattered mask or his complacent gaze hiding a storm of rage. Now, she saw only serenity. Not even Luke could match Ben’s calm. At his best, Luke was still haunted by his shame and cowardice. Ben, too, was haunted, but his remorse had not latched onto him. Deep down, he believed he could repent. She felt in him a resonant desire to right his wrongs. 

She pulled Leia’s lightsaber from its holster and pressed it into his palm. “At least you’ll be armed, if anyone comes for you.”

He turned his head to look at her, eyes sorrowful, exhausted. “If they come, I won’t fight.” But, she noticed with hope, he clutched the saber tightly to his chest, the last kindness his mother could offer him.

She knew she had to leave, had to join the celebration on D’Qar. Had to return to her life of training, though she no longer knew what she was training for. She considered telling her friends — no, she thought, her family — that he had died. It was the only way they wouldn’t look for him. Hunt him. Try him. Kill him. They would not be able to see what she now saw. They would not believe that someone capable of such horrible deeds could atone. They did not understand the wrath and draw of darkness. 

She felt him slip into sleep, and laid her palm on his head to make sure he dreamed sweetly, painlessly, at least for a time. She lit a fire and quickly speared some fish so he would have something to eat when he awoke. It was the least she could do. At the break of dawn, she left, and as the ship jumped to hyperspace, her adrenaline waned, and she felt at last the tired veil of war settle over her.

* * *

There was merriment on D’Qar. They celebrated. They feasted. They drank. But they did not rest. There was still too much to do, too many Final Order officers to arrest, Stormtroopers to acclimate, repairs to make, settlements to build — a side of war she never thought she’d see, its aftermath. Sowing the seeds of a long and peaceful legacy.

She found a new appreciation for food and friendship. Every bite, every drink tasted so much sweeter knowing she was not counting down to her last. Knowing who she really was, where she belonged, able to accept the existence of the dark side. She understood now exactly what darkness was: a petulant child in a tantrum, wanting, greedy. She pitied it, and all who fell prey to its call. To keep it at bay, it needed to be seen and acknowledged, but not indulged in. It had nothing to offer her anymore.

She lent her hands where she could. The days and nights all bled together. Ben’s presence was so quiet she sometimes worried he had severed their bond, if such a thing were possible, but then she’d seek him out and there he would be, like meeting a loved one’s eyes in a crowd. _ Be with me, _she used to say, but she no longer had to. He was always with her. 

Their bond was not the tumultuous push-pull it used to be. He never shut her out, nor did he beckon her closer. He stayed open to her, like a window on a sunny day. Welcoming her without demand or desire. 

That was, until he got bored.

To his credit, he wasn’t pushy, but he became at times exceedingly annoying, as if he were watching over her shoulder. She could feel his curiosity, his wonderment, and — simmering underneath it all — his envy. She received glimpses of his thoughts from time to time, not because he was showing them to her, but because he thought them so loudly that they were hard to ignore. He imagined himself on D’Qar, a respected general like his mother, overseeing the reconstruction of the galaxy. Other times he imagined himself in the Millennium Falcon, a scoundrel like his father with Chewie at his side, while he begrudgingly ran errands and complained about the Resistance hurting his smuggling business. Sometimes he was a senator of the Republic, the prince of Alderaan, a Jedi knight in days long past. Only once was he a Sith emperor. The thought jarred her until she looked closer, and saw him in his daydream banging his head against a wall as he listened to the complaints of his people, who were lined up by the hundreds at the foot of his gaudy, uncomfortable throne. The message was clear: _ It’s so much work. How did I ever want this? _

She laughed, then, and felt how pleased he was by her attention. Suddenly a pulse of longing washed over her, so intense she almost fell to her knees. At first she wasn’t sure where it had come from, then realized it belonged to him. He had been hiding it from her, a dam keeping something enormous from flooding their bond.

He righted it almost instantly, and shot an apology in her direction. She felt some embarrassment from him, too, as if she had caught him naked. Now he was scrambling to hide, which only made it worse. 

_ What are you hiding? _she thought, and tried not to be hurt. She had been so convinced he had given her access to everything. It never occurred to her to dig deeper, to search, to make sure no darkness lingered in him still.

He didn’t answer, nor did he close himself off. Instead he filled his thoughts with — flowers? Meadows and forests and a calm blue ocean, little gifts, as if he were rapidly changing the subject by flattering her. Were she not using most of her concentration to crush the shrapnel of a Final Order ship and roll it onto a freighter to be repurposed, she might have questioned him further. 

That night, as she was brushing her hair and preparing for bed, he suddenly appeared and said, “Sorry.”

She jumped. He hadn’t visited her once since she left him on Ahch-To over a month ago. She could sense a major shift in the Force, and knew that, as more people came to believe in it, they opened themselves to its power. Her bond with Ben was a singular miracle, but there was no telling how sensitive others might be to it, if someone could peek in.

“It’s fine,” she said. “You’re allowed your privacy.”

He looked different, almost unrecognizable. The Caretakers had fashioned him new clothes, the wool robes of a Jedi, beige and brown. He seemed younger, somehow, and she realized he wasn’t that much older than her. Kylo Ren was both ancient and ageless, a facade she could finally see through. To accept youth was to be vulnerable to the knowledge that certain wisdom lay beyond you. He portrayed himself now exactly as he was: a lonely boy full of questions, with no one left to answer them.

It was night on Ahch-To; she could tell by the firelight that flickered across his solemn features, and imagined him in the same spot she had sat when she had once reached out to him. His face was softer than before; he no longer carried tension in his jaw or brow. She’d rarely let herself look at him properly, but now she couldn’t look away.

“I’ve never seen your hair down,” he said.

Self-consciously she pulled it around her shoulder. It was one of the few things she remembered about her mother — tying one’s hair back was a sign of modesty and humility. Rey had never understood it, but she also did not question it. If Ben wanted, he could reach inside and search every crevice of her heart, yet exposing herself like this felt more intimate than anything they’d shared thus far.

A thought pulsed toward her: _ You’re beautiful. _

Ben was looking away, as if he had wanted her to hear it but lacked the courage to say it outright. 

_ Thank you, _ she replied, smiling. _ I think you’re beautiful, too. _

She was certain the flush that crept up his face was not from the warmth of the fire. 

“I wanted to explain,” he began, somewhat stiffly. “I’m not trying to hide from you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m —” he began, and she felt a spot of darkness flicker through the Force, like a mite of dust floating into a sunbeam. Fear. A tiny thing that could not be helped, but no longer held any power over them. “I’m sorting through some things. I want to keep our bond open so you know I’m always with you, but I also don’t want to distract you.” 

“How would you distract me?”

He met her eyes, and the feeling from before came back, as if drenched suddenly in a rushing storm — swirling despair, loneliness, regret. She couldn’t breathe. What shocked her most was that lightness still enveloped her; these objectively awful feelings were not overpowering him, nor were they going ignored. He was feeling them constantly, tenaciously. Not backing into the cool apathy of darkness. Not demanding submission or restraint. He let them move him. 

And then they were gone, as if he had stoppered a bottle.

“I just wanted you to know,” Ben said softly, “I’m not deceiving you. I’m sparing you.”

And yet she suspected — not from any indication he had offered, just her own intuition — that he was hiding something else.

“I want to help,” she said.

“It’s not your burden to bear.”

She reached out to him. Though she could not see the fire, she could feel its heat. He hesitated a moment, and reached out too. She had to concentrate — it was like piercing through the Force itself — but then his hand circled her wrist, and hers his, and she felt his fluttering pulse beneath her palm.

“I’m with you,” she said. “Always.”

* * *

Her work kept her mind off of Ben. He did not make a habit of capturing her attention, although he did continue to send her amusing thoughts, daydreams, memories, well-wishes. On good days, she shared her successes with him and relished his pride. On bad ones, she let his presence cradle her like a warm blanket. As far as she could tell, his days, and his feelings toward them, did not change. His leg had healed; he ran a course around the island every morning, and she woke up sometimes to the rapid beat of his heart in her chest. He caught his food for the day. He tended a garden. He read the books Luke had left behind. He had hidden the lightsaber where Rey had found it, having no desire to wield a weapon, even to train. Mostly, he meditated. It was hard for him to keep his guard up during meditation, and occasionally Rey would peek over it. He acknowledged her presence but never pushed her away. The dam was a courtesy for her comfort, and if she bypassed it, that was her choice. No matter how deeply she looked into him, she could not find that thing which he kept hidden from her. It was clear he was not afraid of her finding it, but he believed shutting it away was yet another kindness. It plagued her — How could burying something help anyone? Wasn’t everything better in the light?

As the months passed, Rey’s skills were needed less and less. Her work days grew shorter and her sleepless nights longer. She didn’t want to believe she’d grown restless and lonely, a strange space between running out of meaningful work but unprepared to tackle the next step. She knew her task now was to consider the future of the Jedi — finding and training padawans, building a school, drafting a new Code — but she also knew she wasn’t ready, and there was no hurry to begin. She wasn’t sure she wanted the Jedi lineage to continue at all, or if she should transform it into something new. She didn’t know how Ben fit in, and she knew he wasn’t ready for that conversation, either. He was still recovering from the devastation Kylo Ren had left in him. He had a long road ahead, but every day he made progress.

Most nights, one or two of her friends were around, and if they weren’t, Ben was happy to offer his company, wordless and bodiless, his simple presence to let her know she was not alone. That night, Finn, Poe, and Rose were all on a mission, and Ben was there, of course, but he’d been in a meditative state all day and she didn’t want to pester him. She was in the mess, picking at her food which seemed to get worse rather than better as time went on, when Beaumont took a seat beside her. They were acquaintances; he was a friend of Rose’s and so he was a friend of hers, though she didn’t know if he saw it the same way. 

“Quiet night,” he said, digging into the not-quite-slop on his tray as if it were a delicacy.

“It is,” she agreed, and glanced around. There were plenty of empty seats. She didn’t know why he chose to sit with her, especially since he didn’t seem keen to talk.

He finished his food and pushed his tray away, then he pointed at hers and said, “Going to eat that?”

She slid her tray toward him. “Go ahead.”

Mouth full, he asked, “Fire-water?”

“I don’t have any, no.”

He laughed as if it had been a joke, pulled a flask from a holster on his calf, and poured some into her empty cup. 

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t,” she said. Poe had once given her a drink called a Mind Eraser which served only to make her extremely sleepy. She did, in fact, forget all that had happened that night, and suspected it was a good thing.

Beaumont filled his cup and lifted it to hers in a toast. “To victory.” 

It was the standard toast now, one she thought surely would die out, but it hadn’t. People still drank themselves into the ground night after night in celebration, and woke up at dawn the next morning to continue their work. 

One sip, she thought. There was nothing better to do. She clanked her cup to his. “To victory,” she said, and drank.

* * *

She stood over Ben’s sleeping form, her head tilted. An arm was flung over his head, and he slept shirtless, a thin blanket over his hips. It was summer now on Ahch-To, the short time when you could stand at the edge of the sea and watch both suns set, east and west. She could smell the sweetness of night lilies in the air. They reminded her of Luke and their long night walks.

She let her eyes trail down Ben’s body. He had lost some of the muscle he’d had since the last time she saw him shirtless, back when she was too afraid to look. But she was looking now, wishing she could touch, but unable in her tipsy state to make that happen. She tried and her hand fell through air; for a moment the connection wavered, back to her bunk, and then returned to him. She traced her index finger from his hairline, over his lovely crooked nose, bitten-red lips, chin, neck, chest, stomach, and stopped at the top of the blanket, wondering what it might be like to remove it. Perhaps he was wearing nothing underneath. If she could only focus long enough to touch him — 

He grabbed her wrist. His touch tore through the Force and caught her so off-guard she nearly stepped away from their connection. “Rey.”

“Ben.” She bit her lip and smiled at him.

When he realized she wasn’t in trouble, he let her go. She pouted, and the Force returned to its usual position, wiggling a little, like gelatin. He looked very amused. “Fire-water?”

She held her fingers an inch apart. “Little bit.”

“I’m impressed you’re even here right now.”

Admittedly it was taking most of her concentration, but she accepted the compliment anyway. She fell onto her chair, bouncing out of the connection momentarily before shoving her way back. The Force did not have feelings, but if it did, it would be irritated with her. _ I wish I could be there with you, _she thought, but wasn’t sure if she meant for him to hear it. It didn’t matter; the tilt of his lips told her he did.

He was sitting up in bed now, forearms on his knees, blanket still covering his legs. _ Why is that? _

_ I miss you, _she thought. 

He laughed, a short, disbelieving huff that nearly lifted her heart out of her chest. She never thought she’d live to see it, Ben Solo laughing. 

“It’s not funny,” she said, and tried to shove at him but only ended up hitting the frame of her bed.

“I’m not laughing at you. You just aren’t normally this open.”

“I’m always open.”

“You’re not. You close up sometimes. It’s nice to see you this way.”

She was so focused on him that she didn’t consider her own presence in the Force. Perhaps she had less control over it than she thought. She didn’t want to be closed to him, but she had no idea how to be more open.

“You don’t have to be,” he said. “I’m not bothered by it. You’re allowed to have your distance.”

“But I want you to know all of me.”

She suddenly felt as if she’d been kneed in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of her, and when she caught her breath again, heat rippled down her body like blunt fingertips. His hands were on her again, cupping her face as he knelt in front of her. He was wearing breeches, which was unfortunate.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“What was that? Why does that keep happening?”

“There are some things you shouldn’t know.”

“That’s not fair.”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I know. I’m sorry.”

This was the longest they’d ever touched through the Force. Carefully, she placed her hands on either side of his neck and thumbed over his jaw. She could feel the warmth of his skin, and ran her fingers through his hair. She almost believed he was here with her, and suddenly that was all she wanted, a yearning so fierce it felt like physical pain. She knew he could feel that within her, but she wasn’t ashamed of it.

“How long can we do this?” she asked.

“With you in your state,” he said teasingly, “not long.”

“Will you…” she began. _ Hold me. _

She thought he’d be happy about the request, as he was happy in all things having to do with her, but his face hardened. No singular thought came through, but she could feel him assent, though carefully, as if stepping around glass. She spread a blanket on the floor — their furniture heights did not match up — and lay down, disoriented momentarily, seeing double reality. In one, she was lying on the cold floor of a makeshift barrack. In another, stone worn smooth. She closed her eyes and heard the rush of the sea through Ben’s ears. He lay behind her, his body hard and warm against her back. She took his hand and pressed it to her chest, over her heart. The Force crackled over them, displeased by their ongoing rupture. It couldn’t understand physical touch and had no use for it. But it allowed them this, for a time.

* * *

She awoke with a piercing headache, alone on the floor of her room. Unthinkingly, she prodded the bond, and there Ben was, awake already, running his usual circuit. Briefly she felt the drizzle of cool rain on his skin, lungs expanding and contracting in a steady rhythm. 

_ Good morning, _he thought smugly.

It surprised her. She hadn’t sensed that he’d been attending to her. He usually blocked everything out while he ran. 

_ There is nothing good about it. _

_ I can tell. _

He sent her what appeared to be Han’s recipe for hangovers, which involved several ingredients in a language she didn’t recognize, eggs from an animal that was not native to D’Qar or any other planet she knew, three bananas, and a spoonful of motor oil.

_ I don’t need your pity, _she said, and begrudgingly got up to begin her day’s duties, which were sure to be tiring and tedious. Work was so much easier when there was a war to win.

Ben kept his distance throughout the day while she oversaw shipments of scrap metal, and approved, as acting general in Finn and Poe’s absence, the construction of a fleet of freighters. Her headache did not abate. The day was cloudy, wet, and cold, and as the hours passed she grew grouchier. Unbidden, she remembered, albeit vaguely, the feeling of Ben’s body holding hers, and knew it probably could not happen again. Luke had taught her to be present, always, so she rarely let herself think of the future, but as she stood in the cold rain holding a broken holopad and waiting for the next ship to arrive, she wondered if Ben, like Luke, would have to spend his life alone on Ahch-To. She did not believe isolation was an adequate form of repentance, not when your misdeeds involved destroying democracy and murdering millions of people.

_ You know I can hear you, _he said.

_ Then don’t listen. _

_ You’re yelling your thoughts at me. _

She hadn’t realized she’d been doing that. _ Sorry. _

_ I could teach you, _he offered, and this time, repulsed, she could feel herself shut him out. It was more violent than closing a door, though — it felt closer to picking him up and launching him into the sea. She reveled only momentarily in the silence that followed, until she remembered he was not, in fact, Kylo Ren.

She searched for him in the Force and found him very far away, metaphysically brushing himself off. _ Wound’s still fresh, huh? _

_ You should maybe not use Ren’s moves on me, _she said, doing her best to mend the tiny fracture she’d caused in their bond.

_ Let me try again. _ She could feel his presence swimming around as if pacing nervously. _ We have a lot we can learn from each other. _ He sent a memory of her backflipping onto his Silencer, then again across the Death Star. _ Teach me to do that. The backflippy thing. _

_You can’t? _

He sent her a series of memories of his failed attempts, in which he landed in myriad uncomfortable positions, resulting in many bruises. 

She glanced over and there he was, standing beside her. “Stay with me. On Ahch-To.”

“What would I tell the others?” She didn’t bother playing coy or pretending to consider it. Her immediate response — which she knew he heard, loud and clear — was yes. 

His hands were clasped together, hidden in the arms of his robes. He looked somehow both regal and humble. “Tell them you have secret Jedi business.”

“They need me here.”

He looked around. They were standing in the woods at the opening of a clearing that served as a landing pad. Even the birds were silent. All she could hear was the patter of water on leaves. Her feet had sunk into the mud nearly up to the ankle and her toes were going numb. 

“Sure about that?” he asked.

She jutted her chin up. “My work is very important.”

He sent her the image of a table where she was standing, with the broken holopad on it, and a sign that read, SIGN IN HERE.

“I have to wait for Finn and Poe to come back,” she said. “They left me in charge.”

“How long will that be?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks. A month, maybe.”

She wasn’t sure if the next thought came from her mind or his, but she imagined herself at the base, Ben beside her dressed not in Jedi robes but leather, with a blaster strapped to his thigh. In this daydream, he was a general with her, giving orders, authorizing forms, presiding over meetings, helping out where he was needed. She didn’t dislike the idea, but it did remind her of Kylo Ren’s “let’s rule the galaxy together” shtick.

“Do you still want to rule with me?” she asked.

“No,” he said, glancing to the sky as a freighter began its descent, as if he were really there. “I just want to be with you.”

* * *

Three and a half weeks later, Poe, Finn, and Rose returned to D’Qar. Poe had a bad burn on his arm from a technological fiasco that, Rey thought, could have been easily prevented if they’d just bypassed the compressor, which they never seemed to learn how to do. Their mission and its many goals had been, for the most part, successful. They’d been building a new trade route, which involved stopping at each planet to ask permission to use an existing landing base or build a new one. 

Rey was so glad for their return that she momentarily forgot she had news to give them. They were in the mess, and Finn and Poe had been squabbling about something petty, when she interrupted them: “I’m leaving.”

“It’s second meal,” Poe said. “You don’t have to excuse yourself.”

“No, I mean I’m leaving the base.”

“Where to?” Finn asked.

“I need more training. And I need some time and space to think about the new Jedi Order.”

Finn gave her a skeptical look.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Poe said, pointing his fork at her. “Kylo Ren is still out there. He might be building a new front. Better if you stay here.”

Ben was listening in. She tried to ignore him.

“What if Kylo Ren isn’t out there?” she asked.

“You mean if he’s dead?” Poe asked. “I hope so.”

When she’d first returned to D’Qar, she noticed everyone seemed too busy to consider the whereabouts of Kylo Ren. No one asked her, so she didn’t end up mentioning anything about him.

“I mean, what if the dark side of him is dead, and all that’s left is Ben Solo?”

“I’m no Force-user,” Poe began, “but something tells me that’s not how the Force works.”

“Even if it’s not, what if someone like Kylo Ren wanted to make amends? What would it take to forgive him?”

Poe leveled a hard stare at her. “I’m all about forgiveness, okay. I’m grateful for the people who have forgiven me for the shit I’ve pulled, and I’d like to think I pay it forward. But Kylo Ren is a murderer and a tyrant, and those are things that cannot be forgiven.”

“But don’t you think Ben Solo is the victim of a broken system? Neglected by his parents, betrayed by his mentor, groomed by the very evil that corrupted him?”

“Broken system or no, the man still had choices, and he made the wrong ones. You don’t wake up in the morning and go, ‘The system failed me, time for murder.’”

Rey looked to Finn, who seemed to be in deep thought. “And you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I believe people can change, but I’m not sure he can. I’d have to see who he’s become. I’d have to feel it in him.”

She knew Finn would be reasonable, and one day, if he ever met Ben, she was sure he’d be able to sense the light in him. Maybe one day Ben could join them, and be part of her family, and do the work he was meant to do. A glimmer of hope bounced back to her, and she knew Ben felt the same.

* * *

She landed on Ahch-To in its late afternoon. The seasons were shifting from warm to cold, and a few of the trees had changed colors — from green to reds, purples, and blues. Soon they would fall and the branches would be barren. Sometimes it snowed, but not harshly, and the temperature never dipped to freezing. Ben’s presence felt somehow larger here, bigger than the planet itself. He was not waiting for her when she arrived, but she could sense him meditating somewhere. She unpacked her few belongings in her old den, and felt like she was home. 

Just as she was considering rooting through the food stores, she caught something shimmering in her periphery. She tried to look at it directly but it eluded her vision, a little white light that looked like the reflection of moonlight on rippling water. It shifted to the threshold of the den, then outside.

The light took her to a scattering of day lilies, open toward the sun. It fell on one, standing taller and wider than the rest. She picked it by the stem, and had only just smelled it when the light jumped again. She followed it a long time, to a fruit tree. The light settled on a round green fruit whose name she’d never learned — Luke called it, aptly, greenfruit — but which she used to eat for breakfast every morning during this time of the season. She plucked it and took a bite, and continued following the light.

It led her into the forest on a well-worn footpath that hadn’t been there before. Ben’s jogging route, she guessed. The light settled next on the branch of a short tree. A spindly limb held a crown made of small white flowers, woven together intricately. She settled it on her head.

The path went on a long time, the light moving at an eager clip. At last, near the edge of the woods, it fell onto another branch, where a thick wool cloak hung. Mesmerized, she pulled it down. It was heavy and hooded; the clasp made from a dull black metal, welded into a decorative broach — scrap from the Silencer, she realized, strangely delighted. She circled it around her shoulders. It fit nicely, just long enough not to drag, and would keep her warm in the coming winter months. Certainly better than Luke’s flimsy ponchos.

The light flickered away, so she continued following the footpath out of the woods, and came to a meadow, in the middle of which stood Ben, his head angled down and arms behind his back. He looked up when he felt her near.

“Welcome home.”

She ran to him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He held her tightly, his mouth pressed to the crook of her neck. _ I missed you, _thrummed between them, though she wasn’t sure if it originated from her or from him. 

She pulled away. “Thank you for my gifts.”

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

He held his hand out and she took it, and he led her back to the dens. There, he had a stew warming over a fire and a loaf of bread, a simple meal, but better than anything she’d eaten at the mess in months. They ate as the suns set, and after, he said politely, already knowing the truth of it, “You must be tired. May I walk you back?”

She was exhausted, full and warm, and ready for a long rest. “You may.”

He took her hand again and walked with her to her den on the opposite side of the cliffs. 

“Could you…” she began. He waited for her to continue, lips pursed in an almost-smile. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I can’t comply if you don’t request.”

Frustrated, she sent over an image of him holding her the way he had that night on D’Qar. 

“You didn't strike me as a cuddler,” he said.

“Then you don’t know me at all, Ben Solo.” And before he could tease her any longer, she dragged him into her den.

* * *

She awoke the next morning to the feeling of fingertips grazing her arm. Ben’s Force presence was settled around her, nearly still but for the steady beat of him, while his body lay curled at her side. He was propped on his palm, and he stared down at her, looking pleased as if she’d done something he liked, although all she did was wake up.

“What about your run?” she asked. Her voice came out thin and scratchy. She felt more relaxed than she had in ages, probably since Jakku.

His fingers trailed slowly up and down her arm, from her shoulder to the tops of her fingers and back. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

She felt something rise inside her, not related to the Force at all; something that she wasn’t altogether used to acknowledging — tension in her core, a pleasant sensation, albeit seeking something she was still too sleepy to grasp. All she knew was that Ben’s touch had created it. Her lips parted and her body grew hot. Her breathing deepened. When the feeling began to pulse between her legs, she realized what it was, and slammed the door between them with a gasp. 

Ben pulled his hand away, which was the last thing she wanted. But she didn’t want him to feel her reaction to it. To him. Her face grew hot and she sat up, her bare feet pressing onto the cool stone floor.

“You don’t have to close up,” he said, his palm sliding up her spine and cradling the back of her neck. “I’m not — judging you, or whatever you think I’m doing.”

She couldn’t explain it. She knew vaguely what was happening, had heard the talk of men in cantinas, walked past brothels, listened to all of Poe’s dirty jokes. Distantly she recalled that she felt desire from time to time — a purely physical response, no different than laughing in joy, or wincing in pain. She felt it when she’d seen Kylo Ren shirtless and sweating, Ben barely clothed as he slept. But to her it was an entire world unexplored, an abstraction. Something for other people. She had no words for it, and so she did not think about it.

“I have to…” she began, but didn’t finish the thought as she stumbled out of the den, into the fresh, relieving air of morning.

* * *

It took some coaxing, but Ben retrieved Leia’s lightsaber and they began their training. Their talents differed but complemented one another — Ben did not rely on the Force as much as Rey did. As a swordsman, he almost didn’t need the Force at all. He knew from her movements, the set of her jaw, a flick of her eyes, where she planned to go next. His reliance on his own physicality was also his weakness; he was strong, but moved slowly. He was stuck in his ways and convinced at times of his own mastery, until she proved him wrong, which she always did. He used his mind to fight. Conversely, Rey lost herself to the Force, but that style, too, had its weakness: she was an emotional fighter. She fought with anger and the drive to win. It was the only time she ever gave the dark side a second glance, but to use it was like winning a fight by kneeing him in the balls — he’d fall, sure, but there was no honor in it. She could understand why a weak person would want that power. It was certainly practical. 

They established a routine not unlike the one Luke had established for her, and the one Ben had for himself. It was clear that any Jedi school would need a similar schedule. In the mornings — though Rey was reluctant, given the cold, and the simple fact she didn’t like doing it — they ran together. She was faster than him, but his gait was longer, so they kept pace somewhat easily. Then they sparred, sometimes for hours, until one or both of them grew too tired to go on. The remainder of the afternoon was spent tending the garden and helping the Caretakers with whatever they couldn’t do themselves, fishing and hunting mostly, or reaching food stores that were too high up. They devoted the rest of the day to meditation, until the suns set, and they returned to the dens for their final meal. At night, they lay together, and sometimes they talked, but more likely they fell asleep right away. Nearly every morning Rey awoke with that certain feeling, and she dashed out of the den before Ben could notice.

She was getting better about controlling her presence in the Force. She practiced shutting Ben out and pulling him in. She learned to show him some things but not others. She opened herself completely to him, and let him search her, uncomfortably close. She allowed him access to her most private thoughts and embarrassing memories, and he witnessed all of them with complete neutrality. She had lived a far more uneventful life than him, and prior to leaving Jakku, held few regrets — accidentally killing an animal with her speeder, breaking her favorite droid beyond repair, losing fifty credits in a hand of Pazaak in which her opponent had cheated by using a card that was illegal in most reputable cantinas (Tie +/- 1). She ranted at Ben for nearly an hour about unfair it was, that she could never afford the best cards and therefore always went in at a disadvantage, and ultimately it was a game of class, not skill. To this, he asked, “Then why did you play it?” She felt the tips of her ears turn pink, reluctant to admit she had a mild gambling problem at the age of thirteen.

The leaves had fallen and it rained nearly every day, a cold, miserable drizzle. She was grateful that winter never lasted long on Ahch-To. Ben seemed to be changing, too, though it was difficult to identify how. He’d lowered his wall bit by bit, and allowed her to see and inspect the turmoil that surrounded him. Some days it was too much for her, but others, she managed to sift through the chaos. She witnessed his worst memories just as he had hers, but his involved blood and pain and fear. It was difficult, learning all the horrible things Kylo Ren had done, while maintaining her composure and not resorting to judgment. She had to remind herself that he was facing those same memories, not hiding from them, and was trying to repent. He would never do such things again, she truly believed. He would spend the remainder of his life in the light.

Yet he still kept something locked away. The more she prodded, the deeper he hid it. Her curiosity was destroying her. When she finally asked him outright, weeks later, he only said, “That’s not a conversation we’re ready to have.” 

“You don’t get to decide that.”

They were sitting on a rock that jutted out above the sea, failing to meditate. It was the first sunny day in a long time, though windy, and the waves crashed against the cliffs. She was wearing her cloak, but her nose and ears had gone numb.

“I do, though,” he said.

“But you know all of me. There is nothing I hide from you.”

He looked at her skeptically. “That’s not true.”

He was right, of course. She still tried to hide her physical longing for him as best she could — which had only grown since she arrived, severely — but she wasn’t sure she was entirely successful in that. It had occurred to her that she had never once felt the same desire from him, which led her to believe he did not requite it. Perhaps physical desire was simply too base for him. Either way, it was an imbalance in their otherwise harmonious relationship, and she did not want to bring it to his attention. Secretly she feared there was something wrong or deficient with her, that she harbored such an intense need to express herself through touch, by pressing her body to his and doing whatever it was bodies did, when their bond offered them something so much deeper and more satisfying. She wondered if he had ever been physical with anyone else. Obviously she had not, and somehow that was shameful too. It seemed there was no winning.

She sometimes felt giddy around him, a swelling feeling rising in her chest whenever she looked at him. It took her a long time to realize she was happy, truly happy for the first time in her life. He offered her his unconditional acceptance and affirmation. He made her laugh. He was unerringly patient and kind. But he was still deeply flawed, in the way that had nothing to do with darkness — he sometimes ate with his mouth open, he slipped into foul moods and back out, he had a jarring bark of a laugh, he made this sound with his nose that drove her nuts, and he pedantically droned about topics that surely no one in the galaxy would find interesting. Sometimes he was so annoying that she had to move to the other side of the island to get away from him. He didn’t even _ do _anything; he just was, himself, annoying. Though by the time she returned, she often realized it was not he who was the problem, but she who was irritable. She found that she loved him, not in spite of his flaws, but because of them. They made him terribly human. She could see now that he was not a god, not infinitely powerful or the scourge of the galaxy. There was nothing remarkable about him, really. He was Ben Solo, son of Han Solo and Leia Organa, a boy whose weaknesses were manipulated and his gifts exploited. Poe was right — Ben had made all the wrong choices, but Rey had the choice to forgive him, and she did.

“Tell me about the Jedi, what they used to be,” she said later that night. A fire flickered in the hearth, and they were cuddled under multiple blankets, her head pillowed on his chest.

“They were knights of the Republic.” It was a story he had told her before, but she liked his stories, especially at night which kept her mind focused while she fell asleep, so as not to fall prey to her desires. “They went where they were needed. They protected people. They weren’t political leaders, but their advice was sought after. Respected.” 

Her eyelids were growing heavy already. “Your grandfather was a Jedi.” 

He did not talk about his grandfather often, though she sensed Ben a great admiration for him. Luke had told her the story of Anakin Skywalker in fits and bursts, but she still didn’t have all the information. 

“He was,” Ben said quietly. “The best Jedi in history.”

“If the Jedi weren’t allowed to marry, how did he have Luke and Leia?”

“He was married, in secret, to my grandmother — Padmé Amidala. She was the queen of her home planet, Naboo, and stepped down to become a senator. My mother told me his fear of losing her was what led him to the dark side.”

“Do you think, if Jedi were allowed to love, he would have still become Vader?”

Ben thought on it a long moment. “The Jedi weren’t forbidden to love. They were forbidden to form attachments. Most people don’t know the difference. My grandfather didn’t.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Attachment was what Kylo Ren felt for you. He wanted to own you. He thought he needed you. Your refusal of him fueled his fear and hate. But love —” He paused as if to collect his thoughts. “Love is fearless.”

She sat up on her elbow to look at him. “What about Ben?”

He cupped her face in his hand, ran his thumb over her cheekbone. He smiled, and she could sense for once that all of him was at peace. “I see you, and I’m not afraid of anything.”

* * *

She had a dream that night, of Ben touching her between her legs, finally relieving the pressure that had been building up for what felt like years. Her hips bucked up to meet his hand, seeking release somehow but unable to find it, and soon he was on top of her, sliding inside her, and she shouted in pleasure. She awoke instantly, knowing her shout had been aloud. Ben was awake too, watching her, his jaw clenched, something wild in his eyes. His hand gripped her hip. Between her legs she felt slick. Had he dreamed it too? The Force was crackling, and Ben was trying very hard to hold something back, like harnessing a tidal wave. Darkness fizzled at the edges of his presence. For a moment he looked like Kylo Ren, and she knew whatever he was hiding wanted, badly, to escape.

The western sun was just then rising, only an hour or so before they usually awoke. No matter what exactly he witnessed in the dream, one horrible thing was made clear — he knew she wanted him.

She climbed out of bed, and went outside to light the morning fire.

* * *

Their sparring that day felt decidedly different. They’d hardly spoken all morning. She was sure she had shut herself away from him, and didn’t dare move to his side of the bond to see how he was feeling. They were in the forest, twigs snapping underfoot, dim sunlight weaving through the eaves. Their sabers clashed over and over — strike, parry, dodge — and he was coming at her hard and fast, the way Kylo Ren fought, which was not so different from how Ben Solo fought, just angrier, with something to prove.

He advanced on her. She retreated. Her breath was ragged, teeth clenched, body soaked in sweat and freezing rain. Her back hit a tree. The bark dug painfully into her skin. She tried to move to the side, but Ben blocked her. The other side, blocked again. He flicked his saber off and threw it into the brush. He was weaponless now, and had her cornered. She could still kill him, though. Based on their rules, it meant she won, but he was giving her the look from that morning, the one that was almost Kylo Ren, and she sensed that winning was no longer what this was about.

She turned off her saber and holstered it. His hand was above her head, against the tree, as if to keep her from running. 

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked.

She nodded.

“If you want to leave, I’ll understand.”

He closed his eyes, and she could feel the thing that was hidden away rise up swiftly and burst. What escaped then was so much, so intense, she couldn’t parse through it. She was drowning. Her knees gave out and he caught her, held her against the tree while she gritted her teeth and allowed it to wash over her. 

She had no words to describe what she saw — fantasies, dreams, memories. Some were sweet, gentle kisses in Ahch-To rain, and others were worse than anything she’d ever heard at a cantina. Thoughts and feelings came at her like a hail of blaster fire. One thing was clear: her longing for him was more than matched. Hers had been, at its worse, tense and anxious, but his was torture. He’d spent these last few months convincing her he saw her only as a training partner, a good friend with a strong bond. But that was a visage, a modest tree whose roots ran deep and sprawling. He thought of her naked, panting beneath him, crying out his name. He wanted to touch her. He awoke, often, as she did — needing something more, but unable to ask for it.

What came last shocked her, the final wave of the barrage: he loved her. Not the love he projected through the bond, the passive unbreakable thread that tied them together. This love was an active, living thing. It wanted to devour. It was a fire that could not be contained, and he had hidden it from her — why? 

“Guilt.” He pressed his forehead to hers. His eyes were still closed. “It was what Ren wanted, but it didn’t die with him. Some of it did. The jealousy, the possession. Fear. But the rest — I thought it would destroy me. I thought it was dark.”

“It’s not. I can tell. It’s not.”

“I wasn’t sure you felt the same until your dream. I didn’t mean to watch. But I needed to know.”

“It’s okay.”

“Ren, he —” Ben paused, swallowed. “He wanted to do things to you. He wanted to debase himself for you.”

“And Ben?”

“I still want those things. But I need you to want them too.”

“And If I don’t?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “We’ll go back to ignoring your constant arousal.”

She was trembling now, restraining herself. Flickers of his desire were still falling over her like snowflakes. “And if I do?”

He pressed a light kiss to her neck, directly over her pounding pulse. His lips moved to her ear, and he said quietly, “I will worship you.” 

* * *

Luke and Leia had said it a million times: fear is the path to the dark side. Rey tended not to be afraid of things and so she never truly understood it until now. She had asked Ben for time to think, and time alone. She put up a flimsy wall between them, which was not really a wall, exactly, but a polite reminder, like a sign on a wet floor. He agreed without qualm and advised her to take all the time she needed. He then tried to stuff what he had unleashed back into its box, but she asked him not to. She needed to feel his hunger to better understand her own.

She was afraid for so long of being no one, belonging nowhere. Of having power for no reason it all. The unknown — that was all fear really was. Palpatine’s fear of death: not knowing what comes after life. Anakin’s fear of loss: not knowing who he was without Padmé. Ben’s fear of himself: not knowing what he was capable of, terrified of his own weakness, of falling to the dark side. 

Palpatine offered her an answer; he made known what she could not have found on her own — she belonged in a lineage of darkness. And if he had found her any sooner, perhaps it would have drawn her to the dark side. Kylo Ren had tried to capitalize on that fear, too. He told her she was no one, but not to him. The irony was that they had been the ones to begin a war in which she had found purpose and place. She belonged in the Resistance; she had no need for darkness. It was interesting to consider, of course — darkness made everything easy, and she had been very tired at the time. But she had grown up as an isolated scavenger on Jakku. She was not so entitled that she dismissed the appeal of good, hard work. 

Ben had that entitlement. He told her once that he’d hated all of his training, and most of all, hated that he was placed firmly in a sea of other padawans, as if they were all on the same level, when he knew he was better than them. He was the grandson of Anakin Skywalker, after all, and that should have placed him above the rest. Snoke had come to him in the worst of his tantrums, and offered him what he desired most — Snoke would train him, just him, as his apprentice. He would be special. His power would be honored. Ben dismissed him immediately; he could feel Snoke’s darkness, and he wanted no part of it.

But Snoke was persistent. He was there every time Ben and Luke fought, telling him how special and good he was, what promise he held, and if he only had a teacher who could focus on him and him alone, that potential could be met. Luke was convinced that if he knocked the chip off Ben's shoulder, proved to him he was no better than anyone else, Ben would learn humility. It only served to make him angrier, and his resentment for Luke and the Jedi grew. That resentment fed the darkness that Luke saw the night he pulled his lightsaber on Ben. 

“No one is really dead in the force,” Ben had once told her. “Kylo Ren is still there. A seed. In the right environment, he can grow again, just as Empress Palpatine can grow in you.”

There was no such thing as good and evil. There was only peace and fear, with love settled somewhere between. She could not fault anyone for falling to the dark side, not even Palpatine. It offered a clear path in a treacherous forest. To blame someone for being drawn to darkness was to be angry at a child for coloring on the walls or spilling milk. People could not help their weaknesses. 

And it wasn’t as if she were wholly innocent. How many Stormtroopers had she killed knowing under their masks was a living, breathing person? They were human, after all, and there was no one person better or more worthy of life than any other.

Still, she returned to Poe’s words. People made choices, and they needed to be held accountable for making the wrong ones. But maybe, as a Jedi, it did not have to be her job to provide judgment, only to bring peace and mitigate fear wherever she could, and love unconditionally.

The suns set and a deep cold seeped into her skin, and she realized that while she had an excellent and long session of meditation, she still had not made any decisions in regard to her more carnal instincts toward Ben. It was clear to her that she was afraid of all that she didn’t know — she had no words for, and no understanding of, what Ben wanted. She had never witnessed the kind of love he felt, which felt similar to her own but far more intense. Were Luke and Leia alive, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to ask them, either, since it was a subject no one seemed to speak about except in lascivious ways, and Jedi were extremely prudish.

Night had already fallen when she returned to Ben. She found him sitting at a fire outside of his den, a cup of soup clutched in his massive hands, with a blanket over his shoulders. She had somehow taken him by surprise, and he startled, at the same time sending a shock of affection so intense it nearly knocked her over. He caught her with the Force before she fell.

“Sorry,” he said, standing, his blanket falling in a pool by his feet. “Now that it’s all out, it kind of has a life of its own.”

“It’s alright,” she said, smiling. They sat together and she lifted the blanket over both their shoulders. 

He passed her his bowl. “Hungry?”

“Thank you.” It was lukewarm but hearty and filling. She appreciated that he was not pummeling her with questions internally nor externally, and seemed content to sit with her, their sides pressed together, huddled under their blanket. There was so much to discuss, so much to do and learn and understand, but she did not feel any urgent need to begin. They had lifetimes together, until the death of the Force itself. In spaces of safety and comfort, she realized, the unknown held no fear. Just joy. Anticipation. The thrill of something new.

“Tell me about the others,” she said. 

“What others?”

“Before me. The others you’ve loved.”

He was silent for a time. “There was only one. Litia. Luke had found her in the outer rim, a daughter of merchants. Modest upbringing. Never went hungry, but never had her fill. She was older than me by a couple years. She’d had other partners. She was Luke’s star pupil, and I should have envied her, but she was so graceful about it. She never acted like she was better than anyone. She was kind and patient, spent all her time teaching and encouraging the younglings, giving them the attention Luke couldn’t. I thought if she could see me, really see me, it would mean I was worth something.”

“And you —” Rey couldn’t speak the words, so she sent him the memory of her dream, which caused a flush to rise to her cheeks that she was glad he couldn’t see. 

He smiled in that way she loved, just a twitch of his mouth as if forcing down a grin. “I was relentless. She was coy. During meditation, she’d send me — not entirely appropriate things. The rest of the time, she treated me like a thorn in her side. A schoolboy crush, which it was, but it didn’t seem like that at the time. I thought I’d die if I couldn’t have her.” He paused. “Would you rather just see it?”

She nodded. Ben closed his eyes and invited her into a memory, but it was hazy and hard to see, as though someone had tried to scratch over it with something sharp. 

“When things ended, I tried to make myself forget,” Ben explained. “Memories are hard to erase.”

It gave her a bit of a headache, but she continued forward, and saw Litia — tall, human, with brown hair tied into a braid that fell down to her knees. She was curvy, with large breasts and hips, totally unlike Rey. Rey had never put much thought into her body in terms of its desirability, but now she wondered if she were unappealing.

_ You are extremely appealing, _ Ben echoed. _ The appealingest. Give me a chance and I’ll prove it to you. _

The thought made her smile, and in lieu of a response, she prodded on through Ben’s memories, which were frustrating in their lack of linearity. Ben and Litia sparred; she threw him onto his back and climbed over his hips. Rey could feel young-Ben’s anger and arousal as he spun Litia around and pinned her. He was his present height, though slightly thinner. Litia was much smaller than him but it was clear she held more power. They were alone in a wide practice room, Litia “tutoring” him after scheduled training hours. She shoved him off and they laughed, and Rey could feel her heart clench as Ben’s did. "Go again?" Litia asked.

The memory shifted. Ben was on top of her again, this time naked, thrusting into her while she whispered through the Force. Rey couldn’t make out the words, but the sentiment was apparent: praise. Ben’s thoughts and motivations were vague, but he seemed to care only for her pleasure. 

Rey gasped — a new memory jutted in, this one of Kylo Ren, not much older than he’d been in the last. Ren and Litia were in a burning city, overtaken by dark side cultists, fighting to kill. She was urging him back into the light. She’d loved him, he realized, and her snarky antagonism and initial dismissal had been to cover up her true feelings. She had not wanted to form an attachment to him, to break her oath to the Jedi, and so she pushed him away. She seemed to blame herself for his fall. Ren’s orders rung on a loop, _ kill all Jedi, _ and pushed out the hesitation and remorse begging to overtake him. 

He struck Litia down and loomed over her. She was on her back, unarmed and scrambling to get away, still pleading with him to return to her. She said she would denounce the Jedi and the two of them could be together. They could marry, build a family on some far-off planet in the outer rim. He paused, considering, until Snoke entered his mind and told him to end it. Numb, Ren dealt the final blow, and walked away.

“If I’d just gone with her,” Ben said, but he didn’t finish his thought.

Rey held his hand. “That’s enough for tonight.” She led him to bed, where they settled into their usual formation. Nothing would happen tonight, she knew. It had been difficult for him to share those memories, and difficult for her to witness them. 

She began to slip into sleep, but she could feel him restless beside her. When she peered into him, she expected to find what usually kept him up — regret, mostly — but she found, strangely, something else: appreciation, admiration, gratitude. For her.

_ Thank you, _ he said. _For giving me a second chance. For loving me. _

She turned around to face him. The hearth fire dwindled and offered only enough light to see the shape of him. He ran his thumb lightly over her bottom lip, and leaned in to press his lips to hers. It was quick, a surprise. She had no time to react. When he pulled away, she chased after him, and caught his mouth again. He smiled against her lips and thought, _ I love you. _

* * *

The next morning, Rey awoke as she often did, trying to control the onslaught of desire. She sat up quietly so as not to wake Ben, and had planned to begin the day’s duties, but before she could get out of bed, Ben roped an arm around her waist.

_ Stay, _he thought.

She lay back down, as far from him as she could get on the narrow cot. Tension coiled through her body and she wished more than anything to release it somehow. 

_ You don’t have to hide that part of yourself, _ he said. _ Let me help. _

It wasn’t a wall she put up around it, more like a flimsy tarp thrown over it. She focused on giving him access, at the same time he did, too, and his arousal — equally as intense — flowed into her. His hand found her thigh; she parted her legs for him. He trailed his fingers up, over her thin breeches, and eased them slowly over her center. She sighed into the touch, expecting relief at last, but none came. The feeling only worsened.

_ Trust me, _he told her.

He pressed more firmly, and found a spot that made her breath catch in her throat. 

_ You’ve never touched yourself here? _

She shook her head. _ Not intentionally, _ she thought. _ Not like this. _

She relaxed into his touch, lifted her knees and spread her legs wider. He pulled his hand away and she nearly dragged it back, until he slipped into the waistline of her breeches to touch her properly. 

_ So wet, _he thought to himself, but she heard it anyway, and she was glad to find it was a good thing. He ran his fingers in small, slow circles. He sped up little by little, and suddenly the tension was unbearable. She could feel something inside her rising up, out of her control. Her breathing grew ragged. Her heart raced. Her entire body locked up. She dug her nails into his arm. The bricks of the den began to rattle and the ground beneath them quaked. Within her, something burst. She cried out. It was the most intense pleasure she’d ever known, its peak followed by waves lapping over her, bringing her down steadily.

She sank into the cot, feeling like the consistency of last night’s soup. Just moments ago she’d been ready to launch herself into the day’s work, but now the thought of getting out of bed seemed an impossible feat. Ben continued rubbing her, tiny shocks of pleasure with each roll of his fingertips.

Eagerly, she reached for him. Her palm found something hard, and instinctively she stroked it. _ Your turn, _she thought excitedly. She recalled a crass joke Poe had once told about something called a “blowjob” which included a graphic description of the act. That was what she wanted to do, and made it very known to him.

He tugged her hand away. “Not yet,” he said aloud, his voice still in the deep scratchiness of morning.

She frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s not transactional,” he said. “And we’re not in a hurry.”

“Speak for yourself,” she said grumpily, but allowed him to maneuver her closer and hold her against his chest.

* * *

She could tell, later, he regretted that decision, but he was too proud to admit it. When it came time to spar, he seemed on edge. They fought on the cliffs that day. He came at her like Kylo Ren, but instead of anger there was only lust. She pretended not to notice. To tease him further, she backflipped a few times, which he still could not do. She made him chase her all over the island, and shouldn’t have been laughing — Luke would be appalled, having _ fun _ during training, which was supposed to be _ serious _ and _ difficult _— but she was, and she couldn’t stop. Ben wanted her so badly, and he was so grouchy, that she thought surely there must be darkness in this, but his feelings for her were nothing but the brightest light she’d ever seen. 

The day was golden, the suns beginning to line up together for the solstice that would bring springtime. Flowers bloomed on the trees and birds arrived in their annual migration. After weeks of silence, the island finally had life again. The water was choppy, crashing loudly against the cliffs, drowning out the clash of their sabers. 

She parried and struck, as usual backing up while he advanced. _ Show me what you want. _

_ No, _he said, feigning some semblance of modesty, or perhaps taking simple enjoyment in denying her.

_ Fine then. _She did a wide backflip close to the cliff’s edge. Mid-air, he struck her with a split-second image: she on all-fours and he was behind her, sinking into her hard and fast while he gripped her hair in his clenched fist. She landed with only her toes on solid land, heels meeting air, the inertia of the movement dragging her back. She waved her arms to catch her balance, too stunned to rally the Force. 

Ben gripped her in the Force and dragged her onto solid ground. Suddenly he was kissing her. It was nothing like the kiss from the night before. This one was hard and frantic, with teeth scraping at her bottom lip, his tongue meeting hers. 

She shoved him away, laughing. They’d discarded their sabers somewhere. “We’re not in a hurry, Ben.”

She tried tackling him, forcing him into a grapple which was never a good idea. In lightsabers and the Force, their skills were roughly matched. Physical fighting, Ben had the upper hand. Occasionally they tried it, if for no other reason than strength training and teaching her to throw his weight. She knew he let her win sometimes, which irritated her as much as it pleased her. He struggled to pin her at first but finally did, trapping her hands above her head and threading their fingers together. They were both filthy, covered in grass and flower petals. Breathless, he kissed her again, and this time she did not — could not — push him away. Not that she wanted to. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt him harden. She was grateful the Caretakers never came out this far — they would be scandalized, and she had no desire to upset them. 

They kissed for what felt like hours, until her lips were sore, and just his hardness rubbing against her, coupled with the strange feedback loop in their bond, was enough to lead her to release. She shouted in pleasure; it echoed against the cliffs. Ben trailed kisses down her neck to her chest, his hand over her breast. She could feel him inching closer to his own release, and wasn’t sure how to aid him along other than by shooting her own fantasy back to him, kneeling between his legs, her mouth on him, while he ran his hands through her untied hair.

He tensed, stilled, and took in a sharp breath. She felt his body shudder, and captured his lips again to hers. 

After, they bathed together in the hot spring. They were bruised and sore and happy. She straddled his thighs while they kissed, rubbing against him but not letting him slip into her. He laved at her breasts and kneaded the tension out of her back. She didn’t think it was possible to come again (he had taught her that word), but she did, a brief, sweet shock up her spine.

They had things to do, though, important ones that had nothing to do with sex. They had to weed the garden, and fish, and do their chores, and eat. The Caretakers needed them to shepherd in the sheep. And they should at least try to meditate. 

By the end of the day, they were exhausted, and hadn’t managed to get much accomplished, having gotten distracted many times by kissing. When at last they crawled into bed, she wondered if he might touch her between her legs again, but they fell asleep too quickly.

* * *

In the mornings, he liked to crawl down the bed and use his tongue and fingers to pleasure her. It took some coaxing, but he finally allowed her to return the favor. She was as fascinated by his body as she had been of his mind, and took her time with him, counting off every scar and asking for its origin. 

She traced the one across his brow and cheek, down to his shoulder. “I did that.”

“I deserved worse,” he said.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

She shoved him. “Stop it.”

He was about to reply with something snarky, she could tell, but she bent down licked across his nipple, which made him gasp. 

_ May I? _she asked, trailing kisses down his chest and stomach.

He wanted to say no — his reasons were vague and complicated, something about how repenting war criminals shouldn’t get blowjobs — but he couldn’t quite manage it. She took him in her mouth. Her jaw stretched almost painfully; though she wasn’t certain, she guessed he was larger than most, and wondered how he might fit inside her. He could barely fit two fingers before it became too painful. She knew that was one of the reasons why they hadn’t tried it. There were other reasons, too, but she had yet to ask about those. She wanted him inside her all the time.

She also wondered how people who were not Force-sensitive had sex. She needed the bond to be able to tell what he liked best, what to do more of or try next. In the physical world, he was silent. In the Force, he was extremely, almost irritatingly, loud. Bringing him to the brink did not take long. Another benefit to the bond: she could keep him there, poised. A twitch of her hand to swipe the Force away, a slight movement of her tongue, and, with a ragged groan, he flooded her mouth.

“You liked that,” he said after, disbelievingly.

She pressed a kiss under his ear. “Very much.”

_ You’re perfect, _he thought to himself, and couldn’t stop her from hearing it.

Over the days that followed, she continued pestering him about sex. It wasn’t that she got bored of mouths and hands, but she had seen into his fantasies and many of them involved being inside her, in one hole or another (the latter grossed her out at first, until she considered it, and grew curious). She had expected Kylo Ren’s fantasies to be far more profane than Ben’s, involving scenarios in which he took her without her consent, but she was wrong. Kylo Ren craved tenderness and affection, and above all, acceptance. He wanted Rey at his feet, looking up at him with unabashed adoration and reverence. His deepest indulgence was to imagine being loved by someone wholly, someone who cared for nothing other than him. 

Kylo Ren had taken no partners — he told himself that someone with his power was above such basic physical pleasure, but really the remaining light within him would not allow it. He knew his love was a broken thing.

Ben, on the other hand, baffled her. His fantasies ranged from a quick romp in the woods, to tying her down and pleasing her until she begged him to stop. His mind was a wealth of debauchery. Nothing disgusted him and everything interested him, even acts that were terribly unsanitary or, on many planets, illegal. He had only lain with Litia a dozen or so times and so nearly everything he thought of came from his imagination or Han’s dirty holozines, which he had perused frequently as a boy. Rey spent hours searching his mind, picking up fantasies and memories and thoughts, inspecting them probably more than he ever did. She was interested in trying nearly all of it. They lived in paradise with only nuns and porgs for company, and had no obligations for the rest of their lives. There was no reason, she thought, that sex couldn’t become their primary occupation.

Yet Ben was hesitant, for reasons he kept locked up.

“Just tell me why not,” she demanded one evening. 

He was chopping vegetables for their stew, which simmered over the fire. “Please don’t be offended, but do you know where babies come from?”

“Of course I do.” She placed her boot on a large fish she had speared, and gutted it. “You marry someone, and the Force makes one for you.”

“Oh boy.”

“What?”

“I think we need to talk.”

He explained while they ate. She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t put it together sooner. She’d always had a practical mind, had never been one to waste time thinking about things that were not directly relevant to her survival. Had never, like him, had the luxury of fantasy. Now, it seemed so obvious. 

When he concluded his lecture, she shrugged and swiped a dribble of stew from her chin. “So we’ll have a baby. It’s fine.”

He stared at her. “I’m not trying to brag here, but we are literally the most powerful beings in the galaxy. Having a kid is maybe not a good idea.”

“Or,” she said, tearing off a hunk of bread, “we have a totally normal kid, with a normal life, on a normal deserted island, with two parents recovering from galactic war.”

“Rey,” he said, turning into a Jedi stone — stoic, blocking her out, which annoyed her possibly more than anything else. “We can’t stay here forever.”

It was the topic they had both been avoiding. Ideally, she would have liked to continue avoiding it, and made that very clear through their bond.

“I can’t be happy," he said.

“You’re happy right now.”

“That’s what I mean. I _ shouldn’t _be happy. People who have done the things I’ve done don’t get to be happy.”

“You’ve repented,” she said. “You’ve changed.”

“I can’t atone in paradise. In love. I need to go back to D’Qar and face the council.”

“They’ll execute you.”

“I know.”

“I won’t let that happen. Not when we have everything we could ever want here.”

“That’s not true. You have a family waiting for you. I’m not Kylo Ren, I won’t keep you from loving other people. I don’t want you to sacrifice your life for me.”

Deep down, she’d always known this couldn’t last, but she had been so present that she refused to let herself think of the future. Even in her few glimpses, she had imagined smuggling him somewhere else for a while. Picking up contract work. Bounty hunting, maybe. Sticking to the outer rim. And she could return to her duties, and they would meet up in secret whenever they could.

“And you were expecting to do that our entire lives?” Despite Ben’s incredulous tone, she could feel how much the idea appealed to him. Bounty hunting was hard, thankless, dangerous labor, but it suited his skills and interests remarkably well. Only those with a death wish did it. 

“I guess not.” Rey couldn’t finish her food. She set her bowl on the slab between them. “How much longer do we have?”

“Until the solstice."

“That’s too soon.” She knew arguing was worthless; he'd made up his mind, and there would be no convincing him. Then she had a chilling thought: “Wait. Were you planning to leave me?”

She saw it so clearly — he was going to steal her ship and return to D’Qar so she wouldn’t have to see him die. He would tell her friends where she was so they could retrieve her, but only after the deed had been done.

“I never hid it from you,” he said. “You just refused to look.”

“You didn’t bring it to my attention, either.” _ Coward. _

She returned to her den and slammed their bond shut. The night was frigid, but she didn’t bother lighting a fire. She huddled under her scratchy blanket, on her thin cot, and let the anger and disappointment and — though she hated to admit it — resignation wash over her.

* * *

Hours later, she awoke to Ben sliding into bed beside her, holding her in his arms. _ I’m sorry, _ he said. _ You were calling out to me. _

She hadn’t meant to. It must have been a dream, yet the immediate relief she felt in his presence told her otherwise. She turned around and tucked her head under his chin. She’d been shivering in the cold, but now his body warmed her, and he’d started a fire in the hearth. 

She wanted to tell him she couldn’t lose him, but that was a sentiment of attachment. Even if he were imprisoned, they’d still have their bond, but they wouldn’t have this. If Luke and Leia could hear her now, they would something about how everything was in the Force and she didn’t need anything else. And they would be right — she didn’t need Ben’s touch, but she wanted it. 

He tilted her chin up and kissed her. She searched his mind and found only, tucked deep within him, _ Marry me. _

She pulled away. 

“I know,” he said. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t mean anything, or change any —”

“Yes. On the solstice. Before we leave.”

* * *

The Caretakers had sensed a change, and Rey had awoken the next morning to a basket on her doorstep — Bread, butter, and jam. Pickled vegetables. Milk and eggs. They rarely gave so much at once, or so richly. It was as if they were urging them to enjoy the rest of their time together. She knew the Caretakers had taken vows of silence, and believed in some deity who seemed like a slightly different interpretation of the Force. They had liked Luke, but they adored Ben. Whenever he approached, they tittered and wiggled in excitement. If something happened to him, they would mourn his loss greatly.

She and Ben decided to have a picnic in the meadow, which was blooming in an array of colors she knew her human eyes couldn’t fully appreciate. Bees and butterflies floated around them. The suns had nearly eclipsed, offering a soft golden light that she had never seen on any other planet. Instead of clouds, multicolored waves rippled across the sky as if racing toward the suns. Solstice lights. Ben had explained them to her once — in the most boring way possible, of course — something about solar wind reaching the atmosphere. Ionization and excitation. Solar wind happened all the time, he had told her, but it was only revealed when the suns eclipsed. She had asked him how he knew all of that.

“Ren didn’t like being idle,” he had told her. “He read a lot. To keep from introspecting.”

Rey lay in the grass and watched the lights. A memory came to her, then, one that didn’t belong to her. Nor did it belong to Ben. A woman and a man, young and lovely, in a meadow like this one. They teased one another, laughed. They were in love but had not yet admitted it. It had been a good day for both of them. One of their best.

“My grandparents,” Ben said. “I see it too.”

“Why is the Force showing it to us? A warning?”

“A gift, I think.”

He lay beside her, her hand clasped in his. Full and happy, she dozed, and awoke later — maybe minutes, maybe hours — to Ben pressing light kisses to her neck. They undressed each other slowly. Ben settled between her legs and took his time opening her with his mouth and fingers. She came quickly the first time, but the second took longer, its release far stronger. Yet still he didn’t let up, and she came a third time, and after that lost count. Finally she urged him up and tasted herself on his tongue.

She felt no more hesitation in him. He had opened her as well as he could, and when he entered her, the pain was bearable, an impossible-feeling stretch. Somehow, Ben had taken on some of the pain himself, and grimaced with her as he settled fully inside. They breathed together, their hearts falling in sync as they did while they meditated. Soon the pain was gone and all that remained was fullness. Wholeness. 

They spent the days that followed similarly, gave up their routine, their training, their meditation, and indulged in many un-Jedi-like activities. The suns crept closer together; the sky’s colors grew brighter. The Caretakers fashioned the traditional wedding garments of their cousin clan: flowing white robes and crowns of flowers. Their leader, the Grand Schema, presided over the ceremony.

They married at the cliff’s edge as the suns, now one, sank over the horizon, and the sky cast a spectrum of all colors. The Grand Schema settled her hands over theirs and closed her eyes. They were already bound in the Force, but Rey felt it gather around them anyway as if in witness. Snoke had tied them together, but now the bond was theirs alone. No words were exchanged. The Grand Schema left, then, so they could complete the ceremony alone — a walk, hand in hand, around the island.

* * *

The return to D’Qar was silent. Rey, petty, blocked Ben out. She could feel his irritation. _ These are our final moments together, and my wife is giving me the silent treatment. _

She opened the bond again to reply, _ This was your choice. _ She closed it, and immediately reopened it. _ Husband, _she added, and slammed it shut again.

As they exited hyperspace and prepared for landing, suddenly it became too real to bear. She reached out and held his hand. 

“No matter what happens,” he said. “I’m always with you.”

They landed. He exited the ship with his hands behind his head. Rey held both sabers. It didn’t take long to attract the attention of a crowd. There was shouting involved, cruel words slung around about what should be done with him. Two men came and handcuffed him. He did not fight.

Finn was late to arrive. “What did I just miss?” he asked. “Also, welcome back.”

She couldn’t help the tears that gathered in her eyes. He opened his arms and she let him hold her while she braced herself for the long, ugly trial to follow.

* * *

Poe Dameron was a great pilot and a good general, but he was neither a judge nor a lawmaker. He admitted to Rey that he was in over his head. He had teams of people scouring the galaxy, gathering research on effective governing, and was ready and waiting to step down as acting leader of the New New Republic. “Which obviously,” he said, “needs a new name.” Finn had taken on the responsibility of gathering evidence for the case. He read as much on the Galactic Republic’s laws as he could find, but as far as he could tell, no one in the history of the galaxy had committed such heinous crimes as Kylo Ren had, except for Anakin Skywalker, who died before any court could convict him. It was decided that, once Finn had posed all the information to the council, the fate of Ben Solo would be put to a vote. Pending a tie, Finn would decide.

Rey came clean early on about her relationship with Ben, and suffered the consequences. She was to have no part, except as a witness, in his judgment.

“Married?" Poe asked. "You’re fucking married to that guy?” He looked to Rose. “She married him, Rose. She _married_ him.”

Finn might have been mad at her too, had he not fallen so deeply into his judicial duties. She trusted him to look at the situation objectively, without getting his personal feelings involved, and present the information to the council without bias.

Ben, imprisoned in the hold of a decommissioned dreadnought, had been given the task of writing out his crimes. It took days. Rey could feel his hand cramping. She was not allowed to visit him, but he came to her every night through their bond and held her as they fell asleep. She woke up each day alone.

Finn presented the evidence as he found it. The council argued, adjourned, and argued some more. Some believed Ben should be executed. Others believed that was too barbaric, and he should be exiled on a hostile planet in the outer rim. And yet others believed that a prison should be established, and Ben should be made to rot in it.

No one believed he deserved to go free. And if she was being honest with herself, upon reading Ben’s list — his handwriting small and neat, almost like calligraphy — she didn’t believe he should, either. It was one thing to live someone’s memories with them. It was another to see those memories as blunt, harrowing bullet points. She may have forgiven him, but the galaxy hadn’t.

Yet she could not support any government that executed its prisoners. Exile was too loose-ended. And imprisonment would help no one. It seemed ridiculous that the council would not want to utilize Ben’s skills. Reconstruction had only just begun. She couldn’t imagine how many decades it would take to establish the Republic, and they needed all hands on deck in order to accomplish that. If only they trusted him, Ben could help move things along — 

She sat up in bed, heart racing, and got up to find Finn.

It was late and most of the camp was either drunk or asleep. She knocked on Finn’s door and he opened it with the Force, which was a pleasant surprise. One day, when things settled, she knew she’d have to train him, and she hoped that he would help her run an academy and establish a new Code.

He was at a makeshift desk, what looked like the door of a ship across stacks of cement bricks. On top of it lay dusty tomes and antiquated holopads. Scraps of paper were scattered around on which he’d written many notes.

“I had a thought,” she said, and took a seat on his cot.

He glanced up in surprise. She could tell he’d been expecting Poe, who often visited him at night for reasons Rey never asked about. “Hey.”

“Hi. So, I think you should tell the council —” 

“Nuh uh. I can’t talk to you about this. You’re married to the guy.”

_ Please, _she said unintentionally, and though she hadn’t spoken a word, in the Force it had been something of a shout. Before he could protest, she flooded him with images of her idea.

“Oh,” he said, and began a long face journey: A frown, considering. Eyes narrowing, then widening. And at last, a slow smile and nod. “Oh, that’s smart.”

“So you’ll tell them?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t.”

“But you know he’s good now. There’s not a speck of darkness in him.”

“That doesn’t erase the things he’s done.”

“It wasn’t him, though. It was Kylo Ren.”

“Who shares Ben Solo’s mind and body. The law doesn’t really acknowledge dark-side-light-side alternate identities. Most people think it’s pretty stupid actually.”

“He’s willing to do anything to make things right. Let him do this. He could be such an asset to us.” 

“Look, Rey. I’m just the guy who presents the facts. It’s not my job to sentence.”

“Unless it’s a tie. Then you get to decide.”

“Well, yeah, but —”

“Great,” she said, standing. “I know you’ll do the right thing.” Then she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and left.

* * *

The day of final judgment came. They’d repurposed a hangar for the event. Everyone on D’Qar showed up, even the native inhabitants. Ben came in, handcuffed, and took a seat on a raised platform beside the council. She poked at him in the Force, but he’d closed off their bond. He met her eyes, though, and she could tell he was not afraid. It didn’t give her much comfort.

There were two members of the council, Gavnik and Ragnar Halibelt, who had been nominated simply because they were old and had served for decades on General Organa’s advisory board. They were identical twin brothers who detested progress and were vying for a complete reinstatement of the Galactic Republic’s laws. Their minds were weak and their perspectives narrow. Rey closed her eyes and searched all twelve council members. She knew how they would vote.

Finn read off an abridged list of Kylo Ren’s crimes. Then he asked, “How do you plead?”

“Guilty,” Ben said.

“I’ve presented your case to the best of my ability,” Finn said, not unkindly. “Before the council makes its final judgment, do you have anything to add?”

Ben met Rey’s eyes. She pleaded with him to say something that might make the council view him more favorably. Beg for forgiveness. Explain his willingness to atone. Anything.

“No,” he said. 

Finn looked to the council, who sat in a long line adjacent to the crowd. “All in favor of execution.”

Rey closed her eyes and concentrated. Both Gavnik and Ragnar had been in favor of execution, and she forced their hands down. Four members raised their hands. Gavnik and Ragnar looked at each other in confusion, assuming the other had betrayed their mutual decision.

“All in favor of exile.”

Three raised their hands. _ Exile is just. It is what the Galactic Republic would have done, _Rey thought toward Gavnik, and he raised his hand. Ragnar looked aghast.

“All in favor of continued imprisonment, pending a new trial when laws have been more firmly established.”

Three more raised their hands. Rey targeted Ragnar this time. _ Imprisonment is wisest. You can use this trial to gain sympathy with your constituents, and win a seat in the Senate. _Ragnar raised his hand. The brothers, now convinced their choice was best, looked as though they were about to get into a fight.

Finn stared at Rey. _ Seriously? _he thought. She smiled.

“In the event of a tie,” Finn said, sighing. “It’s my duty to sentence the accused.” He paused. Rey did not try to persuade him any further. She trusted him, and would honor any decision he made.

“Ben Solo will work off his sentence.” The noise of the crowd grew, and Poe had to shut everyone up with a sharp whistle. Finn continued: “He will be given the task of locating First Order officers and returning them to base for trial. If he should attempt escape, or if he is accused of any additional crimes, he will be executed.”

Ben’s expression didn't change, but he'd gone pale. Paler, rather. Finn ignored the angry shouts of the crowd and council, and uncuffed Ben. Rey ran to Ben and hugged him, and he held her tightly. _ What did you do? _

She nudged the truth away from him, for now. _ Nothing. _

* * *

Ben emerged from her bunker. It was the morning of his first day of work. Poe had given him a puck for his initial assignment, a First Order officer named Jaxon who had fled early in the war, and was believed to be hiding out on Eriadu. “I trust you as far as I can throw you, big guy,” Poe had said, but Rey could sense his willingness to forgive, and knew it was only a matter of time. “One toe out of line and I’ll do the deed myself.”

Rey looked Ben up and down — leather boots and pants, Leia’s saber on his hip and a blaster strapped to his thigh, loose cotton shirt, and Han’s leather jacket. She was tempted to push him back into the bunker, but they'd spent the entire night together. They'd barely slept, and she was sure Beaumont, who had the bunker beside hers, hadn’t gotten much sleep either.

She took Ben’s hand. “Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you.”

“I really think you’ve done enough,” he said, though he closed his eyes and let her guide him along the path toward the landing pad.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

At last they arrived, and she situated him right where she wanted him. “Open your eyes.”

He did, and stared at what lay in front of him for a long moment. She couldn’t read his face, and their bond was unnervingly silent.

_ The Falcon, _ he thought. _ You’re giving me the Falcon. _

The Millennium Falcon stood before them, as polished and functional as she could make it, though that wasn’t saying much. 

“Borrow,” she said. “You can borrow her.”

Behind them, she heard a scratchy growl, and suddenly Chewbacca was lifting Ben in a crushing hug. 

“Chewie?” he said disbelievingly, and Chewbacca roared in delight. She was glad to know that Chewbacca was the most forgiving of all of them.

Together, they climbed into the Falcon. Ben took a seat in the pilot’s chair, Chewbacca beside him. Rey pushed several buttons and explained the many repairs she’d done, and what to be careful of, and “if you hear this noise —” She flipped a switch and a grinding sound followed. “You have to bypass the compressor. Do you understand?” She pointed to the compressor’s panel. “Bypass. The compressor.”

“Bypass the carburetor. Got it.” But before she could say anything more, Ben surged up and kissed her. She pushed him away and added a few more things he had to remember.

“I know how to fly the Falcon,” he told her, holding her hand to his heart. “I grew up in this thing.” He sent her a memory in which he was four years old, sitting on Han’s lap, laughing as both his tiny hands pulled a lever, and they zipped into space.

“It’s not the Falcon I’m worried about.” _ If you die, I’ll kill you. _

“Give me a week. There won’t be a scratch on me, I promise. Or the Falcon.” He kissed her again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She backed out of the cockpit. “Don’t have too much fun. They’ll put you in prison again.”

“It’ll be miserable,” he said, watching her go. “Throwing bad guys in carbonite. All the cantinas. Gambling. Bribery. Just awful.”

Chewbacca trilled in agreement.

“Good." She nodded her goodbye. _ Husband. _

He winked at her. _ Wife. _

Outside, she closed the bay doors, and watched from a distance as the Millennium Falcon roared to life, lifted into the sky, and shot into hyperspace.

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to aeriallon for beta!!
> 
> If you dig this fic, please [reblog the photoset](https://bettsfic.tumblr.com/post/189856541237/penitence-star-wars-reyben-solo-tros-fix-it)!


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